Zin:
Dear, Danny Alberti
How you gonna FRONT like you and average mcee
Or even “my status” mcee
With LINES weak as mime’s speech …
My dyme’s … reach into the front court of your thoughts…
To score punches …like weak mc beating was a sport …
Them weak lunges …fall short …
trying to box with the cardboard champ…
ya LOE amps …don’t hold the voltage …
to flo toe to toe ..with …
this 9 volt … holy scroll co wrote
malignant …shit spiting individual …
sending electrical …unethical words to get rid of you …
notify …ya next of kin would you!
they screaming Dead man walking
with coroner’s chalk …
and specs. for feet out pines boxes
I’m bury you upside down …with ya ankles out
Black ya 3rd I (thoughts) to take ROOTS …and hopefully
You’ll sprout out of ya lime socks …
I spend to send them to the dark …
You had a lil glo …but this here verse is where ya shine stops …
You got to the FRONTLINE ... but you hopped …
So back to the end ENILTNORF …(entitling this Norfolk)
nugga to teach you … how to kick rocks …
spit like big cock …
and log into battles with equipped wit punchline modems and bitch block
to out line you like Hitchcock
FRONTIN but you couldn’t equate
One win … with ya calculator wrist watch …
Zin … hot as sweaters …
But makes mic cords neck mock …..
And squeeze mc’s with it till the kicking and struggling stops …


FrontLIne:
Zin...spin around put down your pimp cup/
360...abstract you're about to be mauled//
By a pup treat you like a sick dog in a pound/
To me...your style is just gaunt and depressing//
Gone with the wind...leaving the whole crowd guessing/
I have vanity for what I write.....I feel the weather//
Don't need to see what YOU write because its guaranteed jilted/
Delicate flower you've gone sour your stems become wilted//
You're like a shiny old car showing all but saying nothing/
Wrists clipped typing mad like a bad wolf huffing//
I keep the punches coming while my fists keep clutching/
Put more substance your flow is just rushing//
No misspellings, Pure Perfection I got MYSELF blushing/
Not even close to touching my unique FRONT sound//
Didn't think I had game? I got the rebound/
Like a drunk B-Ball player just drop the ball now/
The shot clock is over just sit your ass down//
Tryna to throw a knucle fast ball pitch to me?/
Wrong game amazin' this aint no pitchers mound//
Niggas didn't even think I'de pass the first round/
H-D..MCee it’s................the underdog take a look at me now!//



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